Mimi

This one is dedicated to my great grandmother who passed away a couple of years ago at the age of 99.

Her lips were cerulean; a never melting frost.
The blue blossomed in the corners of those lips
As the white of snow played upon her relaxed face as delicate as moth wings.
The perfectly quaffed hair of an angel she laid in her coffin,
Her boat that would take her on a voyage to worlds beyond.

Reminiscent to the Lady of Shallot.
Her song had sung into those who knew her
In a clear voice that ran through one’s soul
As clear as a bird yet soft as a breeze.
Woven with the themes of life,
In each of us she sung her breath, her spirit.
We now carry a part of her with us.
Her story becomes ours intertwining with time through love and remembrance.

She was a storyteller, cantadora, medicine woman, wise sage,
The matriarch of our family.

Omens

Trying to burnish the bad omens that stick to oneself like spider webs made of glue,
Clinging as they ooze
Forming a labyrinth of captivity.

A capsule,
Where one cannot move,
Reminiscent of drowning.
The weightlessness seizing you away without your consent.

These omens of doubt and of failures,
Of opportunities lost,
And regret in oneself,
All fester like a disease.

To Protect?

A world of glass,
Of mirrors and reflections

Full of inverted specters.

Opposite of the topside world.
Their views too narrow to be seen.

Punishing the innocent
A public trial to condemn,
The verdict already decided before the start.

They cheer for the impending smell of death and decay
Their mouths foam in their unseen ignorance.
They applaud and relish such thoughts.

All together, they stand as one.
Here in this world of glass.
Full of inverted minds.